I'm feeling lonely, I can't breathe [I fall to pieces, I'm falling]
["Let me know you're up there. Come on. Love me, hate me, kill me, anything. Just let me know it."]
Obviously set before Dean was brought back.
The dirt in his hand is turning to a damp clump of mud. It squishes through his fingers a little and when he opens his hand, he has to shake it to get the clump loose. He tightens his hands into fists in an attempt to quell the need to dig Dean up. He knows it’s best this way and it’s safest. He can’t cart a body around in the backseat of the Impala, no matter how much he wants to. There’s a couple of pieces of scrap wood he picked up somewhere along the way along with some rusty nails and a hammer. The cross is made haphazardly and shoved deep into the ground; deeper than Dean is buried. The grave is shallow, the dirt is loose and everything has a temporary feel.
“Dean, I-“ he stops and clears his throat. “This is just to mark where you are. I will not leave you here. I promised you that I’d save you. I promised and-“ his voice breaks and he takes a deep breath, looking up to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. There’s another deep breath that rattles in his chest then whooshes out in a violent exhale.
“I won’t fail this time. I won’t fail and I won’t leave you there.” He bites his bottom lip, struggling with tears and emotion, swallowing hard to keep them both down. Bottle it up. No chick flick moments; it’s the Winchester way and he’s the last Winchester. He can’t let them down.
She comes out of the trees and her hand wraps around his forearm, fingertips pressing into his skin with enough pressure to leave bruises. “Time to go, Sam.”
He starts to shake his head and words stick in throat. He can’t leave Dean here. He can’t leave him stuck in a box, buried under earth. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
“If you’re going to save him, you have to get off your lazy ass and move.” Her voice carries a grit to it, the same bruising pressure as her fingertips have.
He nods and lets her lead him. He lets her lead him because Dean isn’t there to follow.
Obviously set before Dean was brought back.
The dirt in his hand is turning to a damp clump of mud. It squishes through his fingers a little and when he opens his hand, he has to shake it to get the clump loose. He tightens his hands into fists in an attempt to quell the need to dig Dean up. He knows it’s best this way and it’s safest. He can’t cart a body around in the backseat of the Impala, no matter how much he wants to. There’s a couple of pieces of scrap wood he picked up somewhere along the way along with some rusty nails and a hammer. The cross is made haphazardly and shoved deep into the ground; deeper than Dean is buried. The grave is shallow, the dirt is loose and everything has a temporary feel.
“Dean, I-“ he stops and clears his throat. “This is just to mark where you are. I will not leave you here. I promised you that I’d save you. I promised and-“ his voice breaks and he takes a deep breath, looking up to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. There’s another deep breath that rattles in his chest then whooshes out in a violent exhale.
“I won’t fail this time. I won’t fail and I won’t leave you there.” He bites his bottom lip, struggling with tears and emotion, swallowing hard to keep them both down. Bottle it up. No chick flick moments; it’s the Winchester way and he’s the last Winchester. He can’t let them down.
She comes out of the trees and her hand wraps around his forearm, fingertips pressing into his skin with enough pressure to leave bruises. “Time to go, Sam.”
He starts to shake his head and words stick in throat. He can’t leave Dean here. He can’t leave him stuck in a box, buried under earth. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.
“If you’re going to save him, you have to get off your lazy ass and move.” Her voice carries a grit to it, the same bruising pressure as her fingertips have.
He nods and lets her lead him. He lets her lead him because Dean isn’t there to follow.